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At the gym where I train, there’s all ages. One man I’m friendly with, his name is Walt, seems to be about 65, and he often works out with some younger bodybuilders who are in their early twenties. He told me about something that happened between him and them. He says it’s true. I wrote it up as a story and embellished it with some fantasy. Big Walt: Senior Brah Walt looked forward to his workouts at Body Power Gym. Since retirement, he wanted to get built again, but not like the massive stud he’d been at his peak thirty years earlier. Now, he worked out four days a week. One of the best things about Body Power was the opportunity he had to train with young bodybuilders. Guys in their early twenties became part of his routine. Walt enjoyed the camaraderie he had with them. Sort of a mentor, he thought, even though they jokingly nicknamed him “Gramps.” Walt played along by calling them “dude” and “brah.” In fact, he was old enough to be their grand dad. One afternoon, two of the young bodybuilders, Tre and Daz, asked Walt if he wanted to go out for a beer. After their workout, the three took off in Tre’s Mustang. As they cruised along Sunrise Avenue, Daz asked, “What are you up for Gramps? Craft brew?” The two young men named a couple of places not familiar to Walt. “I’ll leave that up to you,” he said. “How about let’s just go to our place.” Walt thought maybe “Our Place” was where they’d go. “You don’t mind, do you Walt? Coming over to our house?” Daz asked. “We got stuff, like whatever.” “Sure. Cool.” he shrugged. Turning off Sunrise and driving via some neighborhood streets, Tre pulled up next to a red pickup that was parked in the driveway of the small bungalow that the guys rented. “Coke’s home.” Walt knew Coke from the gym. At 6’2”, 255lbs, Coke was the biggest, most jacked of the young bodybuilders. Walt, 6’, 205lbs, felt puny next to him. “Hey, take a seat. Chill.” Tre and Daz headed through the living room toward their bedrooms. Walt sat on the sofa, looked around the room, pretty sparse except for the sofa, two recliners, and a huge flat screen TV. Voices called from somewhere, maybe from the kitchen: “Wadda ya want, gramps? We got GrowFast, PumpSpurt, bottled water from Fiji, Iceland, someplace like that, and we do have actual, genuine beer too.” “Lemme try GrowFast, I never heard of it.” “Good choice!” Wearing boxer shorts, Tre and Daz returned the living room. They had bottles of water and sports drinks in each hand and offered Walt a blue or orange GrowFast, then sat on the recliners opposite the sofa. “Coke’s on the shitter. He’ll be out in a minute.” From a combination of nerves and thirst, Walt chugged down the half a litre of orange-colored GrowFast. He felt a rush as it hit his belly. “Good stuff.” Leaning back into the sofa, he relaxed a little. “How long you boys lived here?” Walt knew that the young bodybuilders were men, not boys, but he felt paternal, even protective, toward them. The sons he never had, all his children being female. Strange though, he was learning at least as much from them as they learned from them. But he hadn’t yet learned the generational difference in slang that allowed him instinctively to address them as dude or bro, or the even more recent brah. “Six, almost seven months. We met at the gym and figured it would be cheaper to share a house than pay individual apartment rents.” “Yeah. Smart.” Walt leaned forward, untried his trainers, and slipped them off, socks too. Just then Coke walked into the living room, wearing an orange posing suit. “Looks like you need another GrowFast, Gramps. You wanna try blue this time?” Coke handed Walt a bottle, then eased his muscular bulk onto the opposite side of the sofa from Walt. Together, the two men nearly filled it. In the locker room and showers at Body Power Gym, Walt had seen Coke, even seen him naked, but never so close, so intimate yet casual as this. Walt took a hefty swig of the blue juice. It roiled from his belly through his veins to every muscle he had. He imagined himself growing as big as Coke. At least he thought he imagined it. He took a second swig and a third. He aped the sexy yet relaxed way Coke displayed himself on the sofa. He had a fleeting thought about stripping off his clothes, getting naked. Fukken awesome, dudes. Effen, fukken awesome! -- Were they just thoughts, or did he say them? “How about you try a PumpSpurt, Gramps?” “Yeah.” Walt chugged from the bottle of purple ade Coke gave him. Everywhere on his body, he sensed his veins rising, his muscles pulsing. He saw the thick ropey web in his forearms, the cuts in his thighs and thickness of his calves, the heaving of his chest. His nipples, hard and erect, strained against his t-shirt. His pecs, swelling, pushed his nipples further. Damn. Walt pinched his right nipple between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. He pulled and twisted it. My nips are fukken jacked. He moved his hand to his left pec and worked its nipple. To thrust his chest forward and make his nipples rage, Walt raised his arms, hands behind head, fingers interlocked. His traps swelled and his lats widened. His felt his t-shirt stretch. He wanted his strong, hard nipples to pop through it. Fukken man nips, man. “Some workout you had today, gramps.” “You’re lookin big as fuck.” “Pumped, you’re pumped as shit.” “You’re fukken awesome, gramps.” “You’re effen fukken huge.” Totally swole the fuck up, old man.” Daz, Tre and Coke were encouraging him. “You gotta pose for us, brah.” Pose for my brahs, Walt’s mind clicked. Walt looked at Coke and didn’t feel puny. “Here, put this on.” Walt was sure he heard that. Coke had stripped off his orange poser and tossed it to him. Walt pulled down his gym shorts. Underneath, he had a bulge in his white briefs. Suddenly, he felt self-conscious. Still seated on the sofa, he didn’t know how much the young bodybuilders could see. Easy. Easy. Barely raising his ass off the supple leather, Walt peeled off his whities. He grabbed the orange poser, then slid his feet, ankles, calves, and thighs through its leg openings. He lifted his ass off the leather sofa and pulled the poser over his glutes. He grabbed his cock and balls. Fukken heavy, man. Fukken big and thick. His cock felt like way more than 9.5” he was used to, more like 12” and his nuts were big as kiwis. He stuffed his swollen junk into the poser and yanked the it up. It stretched to the max. As he stood, Walt felt 6’4’, maybe even 6’5”, 260-265 lbs. His t-shirt seemed to shrivel. Rising above his pubes, it exposed his roided belly. Its seams frayed as he pumped himself into a most muscular, crab pose. “Arrrgh!” Walt ripped the t-shirt over his head. Walt looked at the young men. He saw their eyes riveted on him with eager appreciation. He knew their interest in his physique was real, and that posing for them wasn’t foolish. With easy arrogance, Walt assayed his mighty physique through poses, variations and repeats: front double biceps, front lat spread, side chest - right and left, triceps - right and left, biceps - right and left, and three different takes on most muscular. Finished with displaying his massive upper torso, Walt transitioned first to a hands over head abs pose, then into abs and thigh poses, right leg forward first. As he shook his right thigh to accentuate his quadriceps, he couldn’t ignore his mega hard-on. Like a knight’s lance as he rode his steed, Walt’s stiff cock lunged forward, stretching the orange spandex, pulling the poser away from his crotch, exposing pubic hair, and offering peeks of his sac and shaft. Fukken awesome cock. Fukken hair. Fukken balls. Walt transitioned from right abs and thigh pose to left. Shaking and tensing his left quad, he also caused his ballsac to shift. Out popped his right nut with its covering of veiny scrote skin. Walt had been focused on his own mind-blowing experience of being huge. For sure, he had been asked to pose; almost begged, he thought, but once he’d ripped off his t-shirt, what he did was all about him, a show he did for himself and watched in his own mind, even as he performed for an audience of three. Walt had heard sounds and hoots, phrases and words of encouragement: “Yeah.” “Go for it.” “Hit it gramps, hit it Walt, hit it brah.” “Awesome, big guy.” “Go strong. You’re freakin, dude.” “You’re fukken massive. Ain’t never seen you look so huge.” Yet, so focused was he on how beastly he felt, the encouragement wasn’t what kept Walt going; a force inside did. While working on his left quad forward when his right nut popped out of the poser, he took a good look at his ramrod pole, defiant in its orange sheath. He felt dominating and powerful. He was riveted, gripped, transfixed by the explosive force that pumped his muscles to extremes, surged in his nads, and jonesed his libido. Walt turned to display his hulking back. Look at that ass. Did Walt hear it or imagine it? The rear of the poser had wedged itself into his butt crack, so Walt’s booty was on full view. Look at that ass. He blasted out a rear lat spread. Look at that ass. He alternated lat spreads with rear double biceps poses. Look at that ass. He did calf raises. Look at that ass. Walt widened his stance. They want to see my ass. Let them have a really good look. He bent over, maybe to grab his ankles, but used one arm and hand, his left, to reach around and pull the poser out of his butt crack. Show you my virgin manhole, dudes. Show you my fukken anus. Walt tugged the poser from between his glutes. Its taut waistband popped against his right hip, then split. “What the fuck?!” Walt breathed out the phrase, deeply. Time for the big show. Walt let the poser fall to the floor, he stepped out of it. Glad of its freedom, his vigorous cockstand charged forward. His teeming nutsac dropped halfway to his knees. Walt turned. “Holy Fuck!” Tre, Daz, and Coke panted. “Holy Fuck! Holy Fuck! Holy Fuck!” Walt’s pisshole oozed precum. His prostate pounded. His balls heaved. His shaft was choked up with jizz. Let it rip. Let it rip. Walt pumped out a front double biceps pose. His nads erupted. Spunk flew. “Fukken A! Fucken awesome! Fukken big brah to you dudes now!” Walt walked out the door. “Shit, brah, get back here.” Coke, Daz and Tre ran after him. “You can’t go other there naked. You got to come down from the juice. You got to put on your clothes and go home to your wife.”